


i'm borderline good and i'm borderline bad

by nirav



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 09:24:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6369178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirav/pseuds/nirav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>tumblr AU prompt: "accidentally swapped phones with someone at a party and don’t realize until their mom calls in the morning and you spend like three hours talking to this hilarious woman about life and when you go to her house to return her kid’s phone wow the kid is the really good kisser from the party last night au"</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm borderline good and i'm borderline bad

9:14. **  
**

It’s 9:14 on a Saturday morning, and Amy is hungover, and her phone won’t stop ringing.

“Mmphno,” she grumbles into the pillow, pulling the comforter over her head.

It stops.

“Mmph,” she mumbles.

It rings again.

“God bless it,” she says, reaching out to grab it and throw it against a wall and forgetting that she’s still full cocooned in the comforter.  Her arms flails against the inside of the blanket and the momentum pushes and pulls until the momentum rolls her right off the bed.

The phone rings again.

Amy manages to extract her head and one arms from the comforter, swatting at it, and grab the phone.  “What?”

There’s a pause, and then a long string of irate Spanish blasts through the phone.

“Be nice!” She manages to shout into the phone before jabbing at it to end the call.  Her fingers finally cooperate long enough hang up and she sticks her tongue out at the phone.

Wait.

She squints at the phone and yanks her other hand free and grabs for her glasses, shoving them on her face.  The phone case is black, not the perfect shade of dark blue she’d hunted for to perfectly match her patrol uniform.

This is not her phone.

The screen blinks up at her, indicated three calls from “Ma”.

“Oh, no.”  Amy scrabbles at the phone to keep it unlocked.  “Oh,no no no no no no no no.”

This is not her phone and that is someone’s mother she hung up on.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

She hits redial.

“Shit!”  She’s calling the mother she just hung up on and has no idea what to say.

Another wave of Spanish flies out to meet her and she cringes, rubbing at her forehead.  

“Hi– um, hello? Ma’am?”

The maternal fury pauses.  “Who the hell is this?”

“I’m so sorry,” Amy blurts out.  “I think my phone got switched with someone else’s last night and I didn’t realize it when I answered, I thought it was a wrong number that called me or something and I’m so sorry for being rude and I–”

“Hush,” Ma snaps over the phone, and Amy’s jaw clicks shut audibly.  “Who are you?”

“Amy Santiago, ma’am.”

“And why do you have my daughter’s phone?”

“I…don’t really know?  I was out for drinks with my friends last night and I might have had a few too many and maybe I grabbed the wrong one from the bar–”

“You got so drunk you didn’t realize that you were picking up the wrong phone?”

Amy shrinks down into the comforter.  “Yes.”

“If you were my daughter I would whip your ass so hard, child, do you even know how dangerous that is?  You could have been attacked!”

“I know,” Amy mumbles.  “I’m sorry.”

“You sound terrible,” Ma says, tsking loudly.  “And I’m going to need that phone, my daughter starts a new job on Monday and is going to need it.”

“Of course!”  Amy scrambles out of the comforter, tripping and half-falling into a standing position.  “Right, I’ll charge it and bring it right over.  Is there parking nearby?  Or I can take the subway.  Whatever’s easiest for you–”

“Calm down,” Ma says.  She rattles off the address, and Amy scribbles it on the pad post-its on her bedside table.  

“Yes ma’am, I’ll be there ASAP.”

“Take a shower first.”

“What?” Amy pauses, looks down at her clothes, sniffs.  “I–”

“Was so drunk at a bar last night that you came home with the wrong phone?  Which means you probably didn’t shower.”

Amy flushes a dark red.  “Yes ma’am.”

The call disconnects and Amy flops back onto the bed with a groan.  Outside her room, her roommate’s door creaks open and feet pad towards the bathroom, and Amy bolts upright and sprints out, dodging past her roommate to get to the bathroom first.

“Sorry, I have to go– important police business!” She yells as she slams into the bathroom.

“You just graduated yesterday, you aren’t a real cop yet!” Her roommate shouts through the door.

“I’ll be fast!” Amy calls back, and she holds true to her word, blasting through a shower and drying her hair in less than ten minutes.  She hurries back out towards her room, wrapped in a towel, only to stop at her roommate’s snicker.

“Nice hickey,” she says.

Amy trips over the rug.  “What?”  Her eyes bug out and she sprints back into the bathroom to inspect herself in the mirror and– oh, God, that’s definitely a hickey, that’s actually three hickeys, how is she going to–

“Oh, shit,” she groans, her stomach turning over.  Flashes of the night before come back to her, dark curling hair and a rude smirk, hands heavy on her hips and pressing her into a wall, kisses that she felt all the way down to her toes, lips heavier on her neck and–  “Shit!”

She sprints back into her room and digs through her closet for a turtleneck.  It’s hot but no way can she show up to Ma’s house with these _hickeys_ that she got from a _girl_.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” she mumbles.  

* * *

 

It takes nearly an hour to get to the address she’d been given, and Amy bounces her leg so quickly from her seat on the subway the entire time that the seats on either side of her empty.  She gets turned around twice once she’s off the subway and finally makes her way over to a row house with a faded red door and a cat glaring lazily down at her from one of the front windows.

“It’s fine,” she mumbles to herself, pulling her shoulders back and tugging at the turtleneck.  Good God is it too hot for a turtleneck.  “Completely fine.”

She knocks twice on the door, sharp and loud, and adjusts her posture four times– hands clasped in front of her, behind her, in her pocket, and then back in front of her once more, the phone gripped between them– before the door opens to reveal a squat lady with thick glasses and a plate piled with pancakes in one hand.

“Amy?” She says with a broad smile.

“Yes ma’am, Amy Santiago,” Amy says.  She holds the phone out with both hands, cradling it like an egg.  “Again, I’m so sorry for my behavior on the phone this morning, I really do apologize–”

Ma laughed at her, loud and bright.  “Come in, Amy, have some breakfast.”

“I–breakfast?”

“Come on.”  Ma grabs at her arm and hauls her inside.  “My kids will be here in a little while, they always have breakfast with us on Saturdays.  I made extra!”

“Oh, okay, yes ma’am, thank you.”  Amy stumbles in behind her.

“And stop calling me ma’am!” Ma calls over her shoulder as she disappears back into the kitchen.

“Yes ma– okay!” Amy says.

* * *

 

“So we’re all sitting there, the whole family, video cameras and everything, and she’s supposed to be the Virgin Mary, but instead of just holding the little baby doll she gets bored and just _drops_ it, right into the audience.”

“No!” Amy gasps, leaning forward in her chair and gripping her coffee.  “She dropped baby Jesus?”

“And started dancing!  Right there on stage in the middle of the birth of Christ, she starts dancing to the stupid little Christmas music they were playing for the pageant.”

“Oh, my goodness.”  Amy takes another sip of her coffee.  “And then what?  Was she in trouble?”

“Oh, so much trouble,” Ma says with a dismissive flap of her hand.  “But we also enrolled her in dance classes immediately.  That girl was a natural, you have no idea.”

The front door clangs open, and the voice shouting hello to Ma sounds vaguely familiar, but Amy ignores it, taking the last bite of her pancakes.  

“In here!  I found your phone!”

“Where the hell was it?”  

The owner of the voice rounds the corner into the kitchen and Amy chokes on hre coffee because this– Ma’s daughter, the girl whose phone she had stolen, the natural dancer– is the gruff, annoyed, exceptionally talented kisser who had left the hickeys that were itching under Amy’s turtleneck collar.

“What the– you stole my phone?”

“I–you– what?”

“Rosa!” Ma says sharply, holding her arms out.

“Sorry,” Rosa mutters, bending down to kiss her on the cheek briefly before turning back to Amy and looming over her.  “How did you end up with my phone?”

“I– don’t know?  I must have picked it up on accident when y–”

“Whatever,” Rosa says.  “You got it?”

“Rosa,” Ma says again.  “Be nice.”

“I am being nice,” Rosa says.  “I didn’t arrest her for stealing my phone.”

“Wait, you’re a cop?” Amy’s voice hits another octave.

“She is!” Ma says proudly.  “Just graduated from the academy, starting officially on Monday!”

“Oh,” Amy says.  “So that’s why we were both– I just finished, too!”

“Finished what?” Rosa takes a bite of her pancakes and stares Amy down.

“The police academy!  I’m starting at the 8th on Monday!”

“Hurray,” Rosa says flatly.

“Where are you–”

“Doesn’t matter.”  Rosa tosses a phone onto the table, the police-blue case clashing with the green tabletop.  

“My phone!  So we just traded when–”

“Yep,” Rosa says.  She stands from the table.  “Ma, I gotta go, I’m meeting Jake at the gym.”

“Tell that boy I want to see him here for dinner next week,” Ma says.  “And walk Amy out.  Amy, you come visit sometime, you hear?”

“I– yes ma’am–”

“Up,” Rosa says, hauling Amy to her feet and dragging her out of the room.  Amy stumbles along behind her, shouting a thank you back to Rosa’s mom.

Rosa stops abruptly on the front stoop, turning to face Amy.  She’s close, the stoop too small for two adults, and Amy swallows and struggles to keep her eyes up on Rosa’s instead of her mouth.

Amy jumps and squeals when Rosa’s fingers lazily grab at her collar, pulling the turtleneck down and exposing the hickeys.  Rosa raises an eyebrow, smirks at Amy, and walks off without a word.

Amy doesn’t move, standing with a slack jaw and watching as she climbs onto a motorcycle and crams a helmet onto her head.  Rosa cranks the motorcycle and rides off, disappearing down around the corner, all in less than a minute from when she had been standing right in front of Amy and Amy had to bite down on her tongue to stop from kissing Rosa again.

“Oh, man, this is not good.”


End file.
